Rosalind - Beauty and the Beast meets Dracula retelling

23-The White Stag

The beast who was once a man looked at his silent wife. Her skin, her hair, the hue hiding behind her eyelids all beckoned to him through the glass coffin. In his dreams, Caspian often opened the glass box and crawled up next to Calla. But when he reached to caress her, her skin was as cold as snow. There was no more warmth ebbing from within his Calla, nothing to melt the cruel man he was. It had been so long since Caspian last felt any sort of warmth and in his beastly heart, he longed for it. It was not until he saw Rosalind that he felt a long-awaited string inside him wake.

Caspian drew an old photograph from his breast pocket. Though the edges were worn and frayed and the ink staining the paper was nearly all but faded to nothingness, Lord Caspian could still easily make out his wife and the beauty she possessed. Her hair gleamed as polished onyx and her skin was ivory pure. Calla's eyes were greener than any precious stone and her smile always lit up her face. The lord tossed his gaze to the ceiling of the crypts where he listened to the sound of his guest. Rosalind's hair was onyx. Her skin was ivory. Like Calla's, her eyes were insanely green. Though no smile ever graced the lord's guest's face, he realized that he wanted it too. With every passing day, the line between Calla and Rosalind blurred even more causing a confusion that tore Caspian between his usual anger and a long-forgotten calm. Look at me the way you once did. I am a beast now, I have always been a brutal man, you were the only sliver of joy that ever dared come and reside inside me. A smile. A caress. How I long for you, my lady.

Ever since he lost his wife, Caspian lived in bitterness and hate, and now, in Rosalind, Caspian saw salvation. "I knew," he uttered into the candle-lit room, "ever since your father showed me his own photograph of you that you were meant to be mine." A deep growl escaped Caspian's lips. He had sworn he would do no harm. Gave his word to Harlan Hershel he would treat the young woman with respect and honor. He would not break his oath even if that oath, in the end, broke him. 

When Caspian mounted one of his black steads, Rosalind heard the animal's hooves thundering against the ground. The snow did nothing to muffle any sound the horse made, if anything, it heightened it. When the sound was too much to bear, Rosalind rose out of her seat and ran to the closest window. A blur of black rushed away from her, urging on towards the horizon. When she caught sight of Caspian's midnight cape fluttering madly in the violent wind, Rosalind felt an odd sense of loss twining with her fear and hatred she carried for the beast.

After returning to the dining table, Rosalind had drunk a whole goblet of wine then refilled a second. Her head spun. She touched her forehead and felt it burn, but the heat was unwelcome. Rosalind ached for a soothing chill. She brought her palms to the glass then moved to touch her burning head to the pane. The cold welcomed her like a long-lost friend. As the embers of the fire crackled and slowly died out, Rosalind remained by the window, gathering every bit of cold the glass had to offer.

The white stag stood on the small rise of the hill. The moonlight shone down through the clear sky, illuminating the stag's coat. The animal's pale nose twitched, its ears drew back listening to sounds of danger.

The black stallion hid behind the shadows of trees and low hanging branches. Its rotting skin hung off its skeletal frame. The horse's coat, in contrast to the stag's shiny one, was darker than tar and blend in with the shadowy parts of the forest. When Caspian slid off the stallion slowly, the stag froze.

A flash of silver glistened under the moonlight when Caspian unsheathed his sword.

The stag's black eyes looked Caspian's way, the animal's nose twitched again but it could not pick up any scent other than the familiar ones it deemed safe. It was not until Caspian stepped out into the clearing when the stag finally saw him and its body jerked as if to run away.

When the lord's sword plunged into the deer, the animal let out a guttural cry before falling on all fours, breathing heavily against the winter air. The stag's breath came out in heavy puffs. A look of fear, of knowing death was near, painted the animal's face. Lord Caspian stood over the deer as it fell to its side and died in a sea of its own blood.

With the white stag secured to the back of the nightmare steed, Caspian mounted his horse and clicked his tongue. The stallion took off. It ran out of the thicket and headed back to the manor with its master and the blood-soaked once-white stag.